


100 letters

by kaspbrakz



Series: hopeless fountain kingdom [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Eddie's pov, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, and then it skips to post graduation, by halsey, dw it's just mentionned, eddie's mom sucks, he's mentionned a lot tho, inspired by hopeless fountain kingdom, myra and eddie meet in early university okay, nothing actually happens, pennywise? idk her, richie is in ike 2 seconds of this, they're in like last high school, they're just friends tho, this is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 14:12:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14190726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaspbrakz/pseuds/kaspbrakz
Summary: eddie never reads the letters. they go straight into a box under his bed.years later, the letters stop, but the box is still there.eddie knows why, but doesn't admit it to himself.lowercase intended.





	100 letters

**Author's Note:**

> hello welcome to the first actual story of this series. i hope u enjoy :))  
> it's also better if you go listen to 100 letters by halsey before this but you do not have to (it just makes more sense if you do)

mom makes me do the laundry now. she says it's because it makes me a real man; but i know it's only because she doesn't want to do it herself. it's funny, though. as much as i hate doing the laundry, i find myself doing it all the time, just out of habit. it's become a routine for me. looking through pockets, flipping clothing inside out, making sure every sock has it's pair.  
  
i think i mostly do the laundry so my mom doesn't. i know if i don't do it she'll pester me until i do, or do it herself. but i don't want her to do the laundry. 'cause i don't want her to find the letters he sends me. the letters he slips into my locker when i'm not there. i never read them, though. they sit in a box under my bed. i don't read them because i know what they say. i slip the note into my jean pocket and finish the rest of the laundry.  
  
the note goes straight into the box.  
  
that night, i lay in my bed. like every other night, the thoughts return. the thought of how easy it was to give everything up, just for him. he- who used me up like i was nothing to him. he- who left me there to clean up his mistakes.  
  
i wonder what would've happened if i had just let it go; give him anything and everything just to keep him by my side. he would probably still be here right now. but he wouldn't be making those lame ass jokes, or humming his favourite tune. he would be naked, as will i. i don't know when it happened. i don't know when it changed. the dynamic had suddenly switched and i wasn't used to it. i never will be. that's not what it should be.  
  
the note goes straight into the box.  
  
only because i know what it says.  
  
it's countless of apologies and asking for forgiveness.  
it's countless of "i wish you were with me" and "i miss you"s.  
it's countless of "please just talk to me".  
it's countless of excuses to make me forget what he did.  
  


* * *

  
years later, even after i move out, that box is under my bed. i don't get the letters anymore. but the box is still there. i try to convince myself that the only reason i moved was because of my mother. the mother who lies to me, feeds my brain nonsense. the mother who relies everything on her sweet "eddie-bear".  
  
but i know that's not the only reason.  
  
i don't get the letters anymore.  
only because he can't find me anymore.  
  
but the box is still under my bed.  
  
maybe it's because it's always been. it just feels right when it's there, even without the same bed. i think it's because part of me wants to hold on to whatever we had all those years ago. even though it was messy, it was fun. it made my adrenaline run and heart all fizzy. and part of me wants to hold onto that.  
  
it was messy.  
  
but it was also a million nights looking up at the stars.  
it was also a million light kisses under the dark light of the moon.  
it was running around, trying not to get caught.  
it was weekly target trips just to goof around and play with the kid toys.  
it was the lame jokes and the crude humour.  
it was so much more.  
  
and it was a whole lot of richie, richie, richie.  
  
richie who i miss, but i won't let it go back to the way it was.

 

* * *

  
i wasn't expecting any visitors. the only ones i got were my mom, myra, mrs. burton from next door, and occasionally bill. i didn't talk to anyone else from high school. bill filled me in on everything most the time.  
  
it must've been mrs. burton. she always forgets her keys (she gave me the spare for that reason) or brings me baked goods. i get up from my spot in the couch to the doorbell that keeps ringing every so often.  
  
"hey mrs. burton. did you forget you ke-" i say as i opens the door. but the face i see makes me cut my sentence short.  
  
it's richie.  
  
tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed boy, richie.  
  
i clear my throat only to let out a muffled, "what are you doing here, rich?"  
  
i let the high school nickname slip out, but at this moment i really can't be bothered about that.

**Author's Note:**

> ur kudos feed me.
> 
> find me on tumblr @kaz-brak


End file.
